


The Tributes

by PuppetMaster55



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27404104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppetMaster55/pseuds/PuppetMaster55
Summary: They have been reaped.
Relationships: Danny Fenton/Danny Fenton
Kudos: 2





	The Tributes

Johnny looked around at the other kids, staring as they wore what was their best clothing, and felt like he needed to defend the ragged trench-coat he was wearing. Glancing over in aisle of female tributes, he looked for the shock of green hair that denoted where Kitty was. It was their final year as Tributes, and with neither of them having any family, they hadn’t had any need to sign up for tesserae; the odds were in their favor against being chosen, but that was no certainty. All they needed was to not get Reaped–

“Johnathon Thirteen.”

Johnny went pale, his already pallid facade going ashen as the declaration sank in.

He’d been Reaped. In his last year as a potential tribute.

He wasn’t going to grow old with Kitty, wasn’t going to live to see his eighteenth birthday, wasn't–

“I volunteer!” Johnny’s head whipped around, and he stared in horror as Kitty stumbled out of the congregation of girls, running towards where Johnny was escorted towards the stage.

“No!” Johnny pushed against the Peacekeepers, hand outstretched towards Kitty as she was grabbed by Peacekeepers. “Kitty don’t!”

“Now, now, Johnny.” He whirled around to look at his Capitol escort in horror. _They wouldn’t…_ “If she wants to volunteer, nothing’s stopping her. Come up here, darling, and give the world your name!”

Kitty was let through the line of Peacekeepers and ran towards Johnny, jumping into his arms. There they remained, in the other’s arms, as they were led up onto the stage. Johnny tried to keep a look of anger on his face, but couldn’t because he was too sad. Each year since they’d met, the two of them had made a pact – that no matter what happened, neither of them would sacrifice themselves for the sake of the other.

Only, after all those years together, of learning all about one another, of Kitty loving Johnny despite the presence of his Shadow, of becoming infamous amongst the residents of District Twelve because of the old Harley motorcycle Johnny had fixed up and rode all along the fence at the Seam; after all that, they couldn’t do anything else but go out into the Arena together, resolved to die together.

* * *

“So… I’m Danny.” A hand stuck out, stiff and awkward, only for the other Tribute, Valerie, to bat it away. “Oh, I uh, guess you’re not one for introductions.”

“I know who you are. Danny Fenton, of FentonWorks. District Five’s most infamous inventors.” Valerie scoffed at Danny, sitting down and running her hand over a plush chair appreciatively. “I thought your kind lived at the Capitol, lording your wealth all over us commoners.”

“Valerie!” Spectra admonished the teen, tsking at the dirt stains Valerie left on the satin chair. “Petty inventors like the Fentons would never be accepted amongst the civilized denizens of the Capitol. Your father headed one of the power plants, didn’t he?”

“He used to…” Valerie replied, confused at the sudden change in topic.

“And despite his high status, did either he or you ever live in the Capitol?” Spectra’s voice was sweet as honey and smoother than silk, and Danny had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Um, how about we get to know each other, huh?” Danny moved between the two, careful not to touch either woman. “I mean, that way you’ll know how to market us to the sponsors, right?”

It felt strange, saying that. He’d grown up watching the Games, watching as people he’d known and hadn’t known died in the Arenas. Had watched the behind-the-scenes specials showing the victors and escorts plying favor and gift both to their Tributes. It had always seemed like some reality show that would never happen to him, existing in some far-off land with a culture so very much not like his own.

Except now it was real. It was real and tangible and happening to him. _He_ would be the one interviewed on national channel. _He_ would be the one the Capitol residents made bets on when and how he died. On who would be his killer. When his fellow Tribute – when _Valerie_ would turn around and kill him, if–

If he survived the Bloodbath.

The back of his mouth tasted like bile.

Danny ran out of the room, one hand cupped over his lips, teeth clenched tight. He wouldn’t lose his stomach in the midst of all this nice furniture. He _wouldn’t_. The opulence of the Capitol he’d been granted wouldn’t be ruined at all, if he could help it.

Rounding the corner, the dark-haired teen skidded onto his knees, bile and half-digested rice pouring into the metal toilet, splashing against the water and swirling in the ripples from the chunks. He could barely the inside of his mouth, the acidic taste of bile was so thick. Tears welled up in Danny’s eyes and were scrubbed away just as quick with a shaking arm.

It had sunk in.

He was going to die.

* * *

The first thing Sydney Poindexter noticed about the Capitol was that it was nothing but color, stretching high into the sky. All sorts of colors natural and not were everywhere, permeating everything in sight. And that was just the citizens.

He glanced at his fellow District Ten Tribute – Sally something-or-other, Poindexter couldn’t really bother himself to remember – and saw she was eating up their attention. Sally was smiling and waving and blowing kisses to every one of the Capitol citizens she could. Back home, she was one of the sharks, but here in the Capitol?

They would eat her alive.

Poindexter and Sally were only little guppies in a sea of sharks, and there was blood in the water. The best either of them could hope for was a quick death during the Bloodbath.

* * *

Phantom shivered at the attention, his skin crawling beneath his suit as he rode the chariot out to present before President Masters. The stands were full up all around them, screaming and crying and pointing and jeering, already making bets and trading impressions of the Tributes. Beside him, Sam was glaring right back at anyone that dared look at her like a piece of jewelry. The pound of drums was drowned out by the chatter, and it filled the air with a heady sort of anticipation. It left a taste in the air, like the calm before the death. The sharp tang of clean tinged with the sickly sour stink of death and decay.

Phantom loved every second of it, nostrils flaring as he breathed deep. A laugh bubbled up from his chest, burbling up his throat and thrumming deep and loud in his mouth. It stretched his mouth wide, wider than normal, in a smile that stretched from ear to ear and showed off every single one of his teeth. He waved, threw his hands up in the air, blew kisses and caught the roses tossed his way. He nodded and winked and planted butterfly kisses on roses that he threw back, watching with satisfaction as the crowds battled over ownership of the ones that made it back into the stands.

This was his element, and he would drink himself to death of it.

* * *

The stadium had been loud, but at least there, Valerie hadn’t been able to hear herself think. Hadn’t had to do anything but stand and wave, hadn’t had to consider how they had stripped her clean, had waxed every inch of her legs and arms and plucked everywhere else into a neat, tidy little things. Her skin felt red and raw and didn’t feel at all like her skin; her hair sat in a neat little bun on her head and didn’t even feel like her hair anymore. Nothing about her felt like _her_ anymore.

Not even in the apartment given to her and Danny felt like home. It was all angular and clean and new, nothing old or worn or anything at all to show for the dozens of kids that had come before. Painted landscapes dotted the walls instead of pictures of previous Tributes, and pretty little flowers that smelled as sweet as they were pungent dotted the shelves, tables and drawers.

“Oh, this looks _just_ as quaint as I remember it being!” Spectra hid her distaste well, but Valerie caught little snippets every so often. “Children, how do you think this looks? Valerie? Daniel?”

“I think it looks just _swell_.” Danny had closed up during the train ride, and had barely spoken to anyone about anything after he’d run from their train car, earlier that day. He hid it well, but Valerie was an older sister; she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands couldn’t stay still and his eyes darting every-which-way. Danny was terrified, and was hiding it the only way he knew how.

“I think it looks very quaint.” Valerie spoke slowly, quietly. Danny had panicked during the chariot and had reached out, grabbing her hand and gripping it tight. It had caused those in the stadium to coo and cheer at them, possibly thinking that they were together in this. It might be that way, but Danny had been the one to pull Danielle’s name. One _single_ slip of paper among _hundreds_.

She might have been able to forgive Danny so easily if it had been her name, and not her sister’s, that he had culled.

“Where’s the Victor?” Valerie blinked, realizing that it had just been the three of them the entire time. “Aren’t we supposed to have met our district’s Victor, so they can tell us what to play up to the Gamemakers or when we’re being interviewed?”

“Ah, about that.” Spectra didn’t look at all sad as she explained. “Two years past, District Five’s Victor suffered a terminal illness. Very tragic, really. Just dreadful.”

It was this casual dismissal of the previous Victor that was most telling, Valerie realized, of just how much those from the Capital just… didn’t care. Anyone that didn’t live in the Capital wasn’t worth caring about. They were concepts, not people. As a Tribute, she wasn’t allowed even that. Tributes were just sport to them, something to bet on while alive and then forget about when dead. No future, not even in the perverse immortalization that came from being a Tribute. She remembered the series this past winter, called _Best of…_ , that was famous Capital newspeople providing commentary on each of the Hunger Games. They talked of favored Tributes, of battles that they found the most entertaining, of moments that just made them laugh themselves sick. There was play-by-play and jokes being made out of all the children that died. “Oh, look at the face she makes here!” they would call out to one another, “you can see the _exact moment_ when she realizes that she’s died, and the other guy’s won.”

It curdled her stomach, and she hadn’t been able to get rid of the nausea for days.

“Now off to bed with you!” Spectra clapped her hands together, a smile back on her face. “Tomorrow is the start of your training, and we wouldn’t want to be latecomers, now would we?”

This was the better choice, Valerie told herself as she entered her own room. Better that she was perversely immortalized instead of her sister, should she die. And if she won… Valerie would see to it that Danielle would be safe from future Reapings, no matter what.


End file.
